


Macrocosm

by soapskin



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe, Black Romance, M/M, and by brief i mean like a sentence, brief mentions of fef i guess?? and even briefer of a couple others, in which eridan and sol are these god-like beings, uh...spirits/deities/things, vague mention of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapskin/pseuds/soapskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is small, oh so small, always turning and turning, never stopping. He is too big for this, too great and too grand for the crumbling buildings and lapping water, and so he takes steps around the world, a foot each crossing a continent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Macrocosm

**Author's Note:**

> i really love it when writers use all these pretty analogies and metaphors and shit so i tried to do that. hope this didnt come out as bluh as i think it did. enjoy?? i guess?

The world is small, oh so small, always turning and turning, never stopping. He is too big for this, too great and too grand for the crumbling buildings and lapping water, and so he takes steps around the world, a foot each crossing a continent. As long as there is life he is there, and he will never never die, because each second there is new life given and with them he arrives. 

But as big as he is, as great and grand as he is, he can never win, because with every step he takes there is a hole left in the ground, and with every birth there is a death. They meet, everywhere and nowhere, in the hearts of screams and bleeding soldiers and the sterile calm of a hospital. One cannot exist without the other but oh! the hate they have is so much greater than either of them alone. 

He is a god, each foot reaching a continent but the footsteps he leaves the other fills. The Holy one snarls, mouth twisting in a pantomime of the purity he represents, struggling with his white white light, raises a thousand and counting all in his name. The Destroyer is not impressed. He merely raises a shadow-burnt hand, and with a sweep of his arm gives a thousand back to the Mother (she is never happy with them, at how much they destroy together, but she is Life and the three go hand in hand). 

He is nothing if not his embodiment, however, and the Sacred matches the Armageddon blow for blow, blood for blood. They swing away, back together, intangible but never will you find them separate, and their fury blackens the earth in its terrible energy. 

The Prince leaps forward once again, arm outstretched, wand crackling with the magic of a thousand desperate prayers, and the twisted innocence pouring forth slams the Mage square in the chest. He stumbles back, looking for all the world like his namesake, smooth gray skin unholy in its nihilism. For every reaction there is an equal and opposite reaction, says Newton, and so the Annihilator lasers back, sharp ripping lashes of crimson red and cerulean blue, raging fire and fathomless ocean. Polar opposites, and together they mean nothing they cancel each other out but unfortunately for the Perseverance the Apocalypse has two eyes burning bright and so they electrocute him, a hundred dead bodies and a hundred broken hearts. 

The Savior stumbles back, porcelain iron skin stained a rich violet- the color of royalty, the color of wealth, because the world has too much of him but what does he really do? He raises his wand again, shaky, and the bright white that boils forth snaps the Ender across the face, leaving him dizzy and howling. But it's not his time yet (that's his problem, he has to wait wait wait because later he gets forever and eternity) and another streak of energy strikes him in the gut, guiltless smiles and prayer crosses burning like sand on his skin. 

They trade blows like greetings, gather wounds like medals, and yet still they are ever insatiable. Not only do they hate but they hunger, they are greedy for more and yet more still (especially the Mage, for everything comes to him eventually but he hates the wait). Wrath and Angels pulls close, divine image a smearing of glittering stars, beautiful beyond the eye but in a hollow way, a bleak way. Brains and Fire glares back, face drawn and sallow, nose a sharp slash and cheekbones like Hades, but his mouth stretches in a pantomime of a smile. He cackles out a sharp laugh, and the Angel cannot help but think of burning bones. He is always wanting, needing, and what better than the ever present? Their mouths crush together like battles won and lost, like everything they do together, choked gasps and hisses the crack of gunfire in a war.

They claw at each other, vicious in their passion, new bruises and cuts blossoming on already damaged skin. They paint each other in odium, tongues playing a twisted tango and teeth raking marks down necks. The Condemnation clutches a handful of the other’s hair and yanks his head back, licks a line down to his collarbone, bites till he bleeds and then bites a little harder. The Seraph groans, back arched, nails scoring trenches down the Mage’s back for soldiers to shoot from, yellow blood pouring like life from a shrapnel wound. 

They bite more than they kiss, tear more than they touch, and when they reach completion it’s a kaleidoscope, bursts of crimson rust mustard olive jade teal cerulean navy indigo violet tyrian blinding their vision. It’s the next big bang, the start of a universe and the end of another, lives and eons flashing by like the seconds on a stopwatch. They are in too far, minds too deep and hearts too shallow, and there’s no cure for the disease that drives them mad. 

Thus it goes, forever and a day, with the world the galaxy the universe turning and turning, and they keep at it like a holy war, a crusade of violet and gold. Life watches in despair, Space can only calm but never separate them, and Time just keeps flowing. Hope will never die, but everything ends in Doom.

**Author's Note:**

> in case it wasnt clear (it probably wasnt) eridan was supposed to be "hope" and sollux was "doom" yup


End file.
